Everyone’s seen this number a lot today, but I’m a sucker for symbolism, so here we are.
There is something about collective moments. The liturgical silence of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month may be one of the few times the majority of Britons share a reverential two minutes. Apart from waiting for the final lottery balls, perhaps, dunno.
Challenge the nature of the defense industry, harangue politicians for their strategic double standards, camp outside the doors of dodgy embassies, hate the very idea of violence and destroyed innocence and feel a bit uncomfortable at too much flag-waving jingoism – very please do. But very please do also stand with everyone else nearby in remembering and recognising striking moments of service. Especially if those acts of service helped clear the way for you – you at least, if not everyone yet – to realise the whole point of hard-won freedom – to be able and happy to be yourself. You cool cat.
At times like this, I think of a marvelous moment that great chum Chris shared with me from his uncle. This venerable veteran was apparently in a pub enjoying a quiet pint with a fellow ex-serviceman when in strutted a mohawked punk, stapled and starched to within an inch of his social life – it being the late seventies.
“Good god, man! Did we fight in the war so that young people could do that?” sincerely scowled Chris’ uncle’s old friend.
“That,” replied Chris’ uncle, calmly draining his bitter, “is precisely what we fought in the war for young people to be able to do.”
..Love it. And may we together continue to reverentially say amen.
In the spirit of this, at eleven minutes past the hour of armistice, I think it might be splendidly appropriate, precisely because it is so inappropriate, to declare the sessions for the uproarous, theatrical, undoubtedly camp, electro cabaret beats-and-melodies fest of Momo:tempo’s new LP… officially open.
I hope I can make it a true celebration of creative freedom.
Watch this space. And start counting. x